On Sunday mornings we appreciate life, for what it is. We have our health, our love, and this day before us. We slow down a little… a lot. We sit together. We read, we talk, we share our food, and there really isn’t much else we need. On Sundays.
Sundays spent by the seaside. Collecting rocks and pretty shells. Digging sand. Chasing gulls. Flappy wings… not a fan. The air whips through our hair, blowing cobwebs away. The winter sun is low in the sky, sparkling on the waves. Nana comes – running with wide open arms. Poppa too. Walking, picnicking on the tartan rug. Egg sandwiches. Shoo birds. Go-way. Mumma has to leave early for a rescheduled appointment. How I would much rather stay with my boys, building castles by the sea.
Crisp winter days. Fresh air and cooler winds. Afternoons spent at the park. Collecting rocks, crunching fallen leaves. Birds fly over-head, in search of food. We stop to watch them. The crackle of static when you ‘wheee!’ down the slide. Perfect pieces of bark. Bright red; the ‘nee nor’ fire truck. Watching the sun set and the moon rise higher in the sky. The promise of a warm meal and cuddles with daddy. It’s time to head home again.Through the trees. Past the river. Bye-bye to the pukekos and ducks. Up the hill, and round the corner, cars whizzing past. You hum a song I’ve not heard before. Your nose is cold when I kiss it. Park life.